The Ghost of Us Lingers
by cynicalshadows
Summary: She'd gone back to Nate, and put the past year behind her. The only problem is, it isn't staying there. Nate/Blair/Chuck triangle. AU following 2.19 "The Grandfather."
1. Chapter 1

_Love is eternal._

_That is its terror and its final beauty._

_The joy may go out of it, and, in time, even the pain may end._

_But it lingers like a living thing and follows you every moment of your life._

-Alice Borchardt-

"Yes," she whimpers, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. "Oh my God, yes."

She's close. Almost painfully close. Hovering on the edge, really. All she needs is for him to stroke just a fraction harder, or deeper, or faster and she'll be there.

Legs wrapped around his waist, hands clutching his ass, urging him on, she purrs encouragingly, "Please, baby, please."

In response, he lowers his head and captures one of her nipples between his lips, sucking the tawny peak into his mouth and lapping at it with his tongue while he continues to slide in and out of her slick heat. She arches into the sensation, moaning low in her throat as she thrashes her head upon the pillows.

And then his driving rhythm into her tight sheath falters once, twice, his muscles tensing as he loses the battle to hold back, to wait for her to go before he does, and abandoning his last shred of restraint as he climaxes, he shouts hoarsely and pounds into her one final time with enough force to give her what she'd been craving and she comes undone beneath him with a rush of warmth and a raking of nails.

"Chuck!" Blair cries in ecstasy, her tone buoyant and joyful, her every nerve ending electric.

And before her last spasm of pleasure even starts to wane, he withdraws abruptly, rolling off her and onto his back.

For a long minute, both of them gasp for breath and stare fixedly at the ceiling in silence, neither willing to be the first to acknowledge the gigantic elephant that had just dropped into the room with the subtlety of an atom bomb. An elephant by the name of Chuck Bass, because despite what she had exclaimed when she'd came, the guy who'd brought her there and is now currently laying beside her amid the tangled blankets is not Chuck Bass, but Nate Archibald.

Since the last time they had been together nearly a year ago, Nate's prowess between the sheets has improved. Seems being a kept man for the Duchess had honed his technique. But although he can now make her orgasm with regularity, he is still no match for his onetime BFF, who can, with an intense look and a few choice words, have her wet and practically sobbing for release before her clothes ever come off. The smug bastard doesn't even have to touch her to set her aflame, and while she has always enjoyed being intimate with Nathaniel, now more so than ever, her traitorous body knows the difference and has a terrible tendency to make its preference known at the most inopportune times.

Like when she peaks with her boyfriend, for instance.

"Nate, I'm sorry," she whispers, turning onto her side to peer at him. "It... It just - "

"Slipped out," he finishes, his voice devoid of emotion, his eyes remaining on the ceiling rather than meeting her apologetic gaze. "I know."

"It was involuntary," she stresses. "It didn't _mean_ anything."

"I know that too," he replies in the same detached manner. "It still doesn't make me feel any better."

"Nate, don't get upset," she pleads, touching his shoulder hesitantly, wishing he would do something other than just lie there like an unyielding stone. Even anger would be better than this. "It was an accident," she soothes rapidly. "I didn't do it deliberately, and I swear I am not thinking of him when I'm with you. I don't want him that way anymore. I want you."

Slowly, he rotates his face to search her eyes. "Do you Blair?" he asks with deadly calm. "Do you really?"

"Of course I do!" she laughs, reaching out to cradle his cheek. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because this isn't the first time you said _his_ name," Nate snarls suddenly, jerking away from her gentle caresses. "And I doubt it will be the last, and call me paranoid but I have a feeling you're not being entirely honest with yourself!" With a derisive snort, he sits up and tears his fingers through his sandy blonde hair. "Neither of you are," he adds bitterly.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Blair bristles, instantly defensive.

"Just that whenever you are around each other anymore, it's like the rest of the world ceases to exist and there's only Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck."

"That's not true," she denies, forcing herself not to glance away from Nathaniel's probing stare.

"Yes, it is," he grinds out through clenched teeth. Then a look of pain crosses his handsome features and all the fight goes out of him. "As much as I hate to admit it, it is," he sighs. "And I can't compete with that."

Scooting across the mattress, Blair wraps her arms around him and brings his face to hers for a kiss. "You don't have to," she murmurs afterwards. "I made my decision and I chose you. Always have. Always will."

He brushes a stray curl behind her ear, smiling at her sadly. "For how long Blair?" he inquires. "Until Chuck beckons? Until he says he wants you again?"

"I do not want Chuck," she asserts. "And Chuck does not want me, Nate. Not anymore. He said so himself."

And he had, she thinks with a twinge of something like regret. She'd offered herself to him, had begged him to take her, and he had turned her down flat, claiming she wasn't herself, that she wasn't the Blair he wanted. And when she'd stalked away, that Basstard, that MotherChucker who supposedly cared hadn't even bothered to follow her. He'd let her go _again_, at the time she needed him most, and it had been Nate, her white knight Nate, who had come to her rescue, who'd stopped her downward spiral, who'd made sure she'd gotten home safely, and when she'd offered herself to him, he hadn't rejected her. He'd held her close and told her she was beautiful and made her feel wanted and safe. And that was that. Goodbye heartache and misery and Basshole who couldn't commit or say 'I love you.' She'd reunited with Nathaniel and hadn't looked back. When one has a golden boy, who needs a dark prince?

Interrupting her thoughts, Nate speaks again. "Chuck doesn't know what he wants," he says emphatically, disentangling himself from her embrace. "And neither do you. That's the entire problem."

"I do too know what I want! I do!" she protests petulantly, not caring that she sounds very much like a child at the moment instead of a young woman about to embark on life after high school, a life where one day she will be an Archibald instead of a Bass. Not that she'd _ever_ considered being a Bass in the first place.

"I wish I believed that," Nate continues, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and picking his discarded pile of clothes up off the floor.

"Nate, please don't go," she begs as he shrugs into his sweater and starts to step into his trousers. "Stay. Lay back down. Cuddle with me. Let me fix this."

He stops, his fly halfway zipped. "You want to fix it? Then talk to him Blair. Talk to Chuck."

"I don't see how that - "

"Whatever this thing between the two of you is, get it out in the open and settle it once and for all, because quite honestly, I don't know how much more of it I can take."

With that parting shot, Nate walks out of her room, and Blair is left gaping after him, clutching the covers to her nakedness, feeling quite positive that her fairytale romance is going to end like those of the Brothers' Grimm rather than the happily ever after Disney equivalent unless she does something to save it very soon.

And if that something has to involve a discussion with a certain seventeen year old billionaire with incredible stamina, so be it. It isn't like one conversation will change anything. Chuck Bass is ancient history, and this is one instance where history is not going to repeat itself.


	2. Chapter 2

Peering into her compact, Blair scrutinizes her reflection, searching for the slightest flaw, the smallest imperfection. A displaced curl or a stray eyelash or a barely perceptible smudge in her lipstick is not to be tolerated today. Not when she's seeing _him_. Not that his opinion matters. She… she just wants to look her best. For _her_. Nothing wrong with that. How often does a girl get to run into an ex looking so good that he'll kick himself for ever letting her go and eat his heart out? Not that Chuck is an ex. Or has a heart. Or that she cares enough to make him regret losing her.

And so what if she'd taken extra time with her appearance this morning to ensure she looked stunning, and pinned her hair up so her nape was visible, and wore a crimson dress that showed off her curves that he might have mentioned once or twice made her a hundred times hotter than Serena could ever be? She wasn't doing it for him.

She's with Nate, and she's living her fairytale, and Chuck Bass is nothing but a mistake so far in her past she can hardly remember.

Finding that nothing has changed with her appearance since the last time she'd checked before getting into the elevator, she clicks the mirrored case shut with a satisfied smirk and slides it back into her Miu Miu clutch.

Next she straitens the fall of her gown, squares her shoulders, raises her fist and knocks a staccato rhythm upon the door to the van der Woodsen penthouse where Chuck currently resides.

Standing there waiting, something flutters inside her stomach, and she tells herself it isn't butterflies. She no longer gets those for him. It's probably nausea or low blood sugar since she skipped breakfast. After this meeting, she'll have to get some lunch. Maybe Nate will take her out to Butter and then home to his place and they'll make love all afternoon and thoughts of a certain Basshole won't intrude in her relationship or her life ever again. Everything will be perfect. Nate and Blair, Blair and Nate. The way the movie in her head is supposed to end.

In front of her, the door opens and it's _him_, silhouetted in the entrance, more handsome than a heartbreaking Basstard should be allowed to be, impeccable in a pale blue suit, familiar glass of scotch in hand, and it may just be a trick of the light, but for the briefest moment, it seems like some undefined emotion flickers across his face, something so raw it steals her breath. Then, before she can even fully register it, let alone begin to decipher its meaning, the look is gone, replaced by one of aloof indifference.

"Blair," he greets, and it should be illegal the way he makes her name sound, the way it rolls off his tongue to reach inside and stoke the embers of something that should've burned out long ago. "Serena's not here."

"I'm not here for Serena," she says, feeling flustered that he can still affect her so. "I… I came to see you."

His brows lift. "Oh?"

And there it is again. That look. That flash of something in his eyes.

"Yeah, well…" she sighs, her voice trailing off when she registers his proximity. He's closer now, only an arm's length away, and she can smell his cologne, that intoxicating mixture of sandalwood and spice and the faintest hint of something else, something elusive and feminine that he somehow manages to make seem incredibly _male_.

That scent… that scent should be illegal too. It reminds her of…

_You sure?_

…of things that are best forgotten.

Nervously, she wets her lips, and his dark eyes track the movement in a way that dries the saliva in her mouth and she has to moisten them once more, and he's suddenly nearer than he was, she would swear it, even though she can't recall seeing him take a step forward, and secretly she fears it may have been her traitorous body that had closed the distance between them of its own volition.

And he's doing it again, undressing her with a glance, stripping her bare, peering into her core and making her yearn for that which she can never have. Not with him. Even though he's there, right there, close enough to touch, to kiss, to –

"Nate thinks we should talk," she blurts out.

His free hand, the one not nursing the scotch, the one that had just begun to reach for her, perhaps to stroke her arm or cradle her cheek or bury itself into her hair, falls slowly back to his side, curling into a fist as it goes.

"Is that so?" Chuck drawls, and his voice is altogether different now. It's colder, more abrupt, almost… resentful. And yet that doesn't make any sense because what does he have to be resentful about?

After all, wasn't _he_ the one who had rejected _her _time and again? He was the one who sneered, 'Well that's too bad.' He was the one who made 'wife' into the ugliest word in the world and thought a bouquet of flowers and a pathetic apology could fix it. It was him, Chuck _fucking_ Bass, who was the one who told her he didn't want her at the Vanderbilt family reunion when she'd offered herself to him like she had that first night after Victrola! Seems virginal, perfect, undisputed Queen of Constance Blair was good enough to screw, but not Blair who'd lost everything. He didn't want _that_ Blair. Not the one who'd been rode hard and put away wet, who'd been cheated on my Marcus, who'd been cast aside by Carter Baizen, who'd lost Yale and her father's respect and her own pride. Nobody wanted her. Nobody except Nathaniel.

"Yes," Blair replies stiffly. "He… he is worried that us getting back together might have been a bit premature."

"And what would give him that kind of impression?" Chuck inquires, expression guarded, eyes intense but unreadable.

"I…"

_Cried your name during sex... several times._

"I haven't the faintest," Blair shrugs, an irritating flush creeping up her neck.

The edges of Chuck's mouth curl upwards. "You're a terrible liar, Waldorf," he whispers smugly, and she suppresses the impulse to slap that cocky smirk right off his face.

Instead, she fixes him with a frosty glare. "Why he thinks it isn't relevant to this conversation," she says dismissively. "The point is he thinks it. He's worried that we… that you and I have some unresolved issues."

"Really?" Chuck snorts. "How perceptive of him."

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean…" She stops, silently counting to ten, willing herself to regain control of this situation and not allow him to goad her into rage like he frequently does. "Nate thinking that there is anything between you and I is just ludicrous because – "

"Because you ran from my arms to his?" Chuck interjects.

"It wasn't like that!" she bristles, temper flaring despite her efforts to keep it in check.

"It was _exactly_ like that," he accuses. "It was your goddamned cotillion all over again!"

"And so what if it was?" she snaps, unable to remain calm any longer. "You had your chance Chuck! In case you've forgotten, it was _you_ who turned _me_ down that night. It was you who didn't want me!"

"I wanted you, Waldorf," he insists, his tone less angry than it is bitter. "I just didn't want being with you to mean nothing."

That admission gives her pause. "Excuse me?"

"You wanted me to fuck you in order to, and I quote, 'prove nothing matters,' and forgive me but I didn't want to be part of something that didn't matter," he growls. "Not with you. Not with _us_."

His words, damn him, stir something within her, but she fights against it. Inadvertently calling them an 'us' is not enough to erase the anguish he has caused her this past year. "Well you have a funny way of being chivalrous," she snarls. "You didn't even bother to come after me or make sure I got home. You left!"

"I left because I wasn't sure how long I could keep saying no!" he grinds out in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair in a familiar gesture. "Christ Waldorf," he continues, his voice gentler, "I wanted you. I wanted you so badly I couldn't see straight, and I knew if I stayed, I'd give in. I'd do whatever you asked. I'd fuck you until you saw stars, and I'd hate myself for it. I didn't want our first time together since I didn't follow you to Tuscany to be like that. Not a frantic fuck against a wall! _We're_ worth more than that."

"We're…?" she swallows, her icy demeanor thawing as he refers to them as a couple once again.

Then his unexpected softness disappears behind a venomous sneer. "What does it matter now though?" he hisses. "You ran back to your precious Nathaniel the first chance you got. You're with him now, and I… I'm expecting someone."

"What?"

"I have a _date_," he enunciates with vicious glee. "So if you don't mind, can we wrap this up? I need to get ready. I've got _better_ things planned for this evening."

"You have a date?" she sputters, her stomach churning suddenly.

"Yeah," he grins cruelly. "5'10", blonde, busty, legs for days."

In other words, everything she is not. It goes unsaid, but still she hears it.

"Well I hope she makes you happy," she retorts, leaving abruptly, blinking back tears.

She makes it about ten paces before he calls after her. "Blair, wait! I – "

"Yes?" she says quickly, hating the breathless quality in her voice as she turns to find him almost immediately behind her.

In response, he stands there, some inner turmoil clouding his features. Then he stretches out his hand, brushing her cheek as he tucks an errant curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering there, woven into the mahogany mass of her hair, his smoldering gaze boring into her, searching her face with an almost desperate urgency.

"I… I…"

_Three words. Eight letters. Say it and I'm yours._

"I hope you're happy too," he finally mutters.

_Thank you. That's all I needed to hear. _

"I am," she announces blithely, beaming even as what's left of her heart shatters, not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "I'm marvelously happy."

Chuck nods, stepping back, dropping his hand from her chestnut tresses, and the pang that accompanies that loss of contact has her fighting back the urge to fling herself into his arms and confess that it's all a lie. "That's… great."

"Yes, yes it is," she agrees. "But I really should be going. I'm having lunch with Nathaniel, and I don't want to keep you from getting ready for your… date."

"My…date. Yeah," he mumbles. "Goodbye, Blair."

"Goodbye Chuck."

She returns to her residence, texting Nate en route, asking him to come over. Once back in the safety of her room, after sending Dorota out for the remainder of the day, she undresses slowly down to nothing but La Perla lingerie and Louboutin pumps, lights jasmine scented candles to help set the mood, and then perches on the edge of the bed to wait for his arrival. When the door opens, a memory flits through her mind.

_What took you so long? _

_If you thought that was long…_

But she shoves it away, smiling gaily at Nate despite the chill running down her spine. "I told you that you were being silly," she purrs at him. "There is absolutely _nothing_ between me and Chuck anymore. I want you, Nate Archibald. You and only you."

As he takes her in his arms and kisses her, however, as he lays her back upon the powder blue sheets to make love, as he caresses her skin and fondles her breasts, as she spreads her thighs to take him into herself with a soft moan, she keeps remembering another's touch, fervent and tender and almost reverential.

Nate's voice is whispering in her ear, "Oh God Blair. Baby you're so good, so hot. I love you," but it is another's words that echo in her thoughts.

_Let go, princess, let go._

And as she comes undone beneath her golden boy, it is the face of a dark prince that flashes before her eyes, although his name is not on her lips. She holds it back, deep inside, locked away with the remnants of other broken dreams, and if Nathaniel sees the unshed tears shimmering along her lashes in that moment, he chooses not to comment.


	3. Chapter 3

Chuck Bass has always prided himself on living without regrets. They serve no purpose, they change nothing, and the constant litany of 'could of, would of, should of' is enough to drive one mad. Still, in his seventeen years, he has _grudgingly_ acquired a few, and the majority of them concern _her_.

He regrets hesitating on the dance floor before chasing after her on the eve of her cotillion. He regrets insinuating she was a slut by comparing her to a well ridden horse. He regrets standing her up on a helipad. He regrets every day of the summer in which he did not follow her to Tuscany and beg her forgiveness. He regrets being too proud to admit he loved her before she'd left the White Party with another man. He regrets not agreeing to say 'I love you' at the same time as her on a rooftop in Brooklyn. He regrets throwing her 'I love you' confession back in her face after his father's funeral. He regrets leaving the comfort of her embrace later that same night and fleeing to Thailand. He regrets cancelling their dinner together so he could get drunk and high with Jack and some prostitutes. He regrets taking his anger and embarrassment at being set up by his uncle out on her by accusing her of trying to play wife. He regrets trying to forget her with a manipulative whore who'd taken advantage of his desire to be the hero for once and conned him out of thousands while Carter Baizen conned himself into Blair's bed. And lately… lately he's regretting not fucking her when she'd asked at the Vanderbilt reunion.

He would have regretted that too, of course. But perhaps not as much as he regrets turning her down seeing at that decision had propelled her back into Nathaniel's arms. If he had given in, had just taken her as ordered, he might've hated himself, but he wouldn't have lost her completely. Sleeping with her at that party wouldn't have helped matters, wouldn't have fixed her or stopped her downward spiral, but surely that was something he could have dealt with afterwards, when she wasn't drunk and desperate and hell bent on social suicide.

But instead, he had left, had tried to do the right thing, only to discover when he'd gone to her penthouse later that evening that the _right_ thing had in fact been the _wrong_ thing.

It's ironic that when _he_ was the gentleman who refused to take advantage of her vulnerable emotional state, _Nate_ was the bastard who had.

And Chuck can't even really blame his friend. It was his own fault more than Nathaniel's. He should never have let her spin so far out of control in the first place. He should have been there for her, should have fought for her long before Serena had prompted him to.

But the thing was he hadn't known how. He had never had to fight for anything in his life. Being a Bass, he's grown up believing that everything had a price, and with the right amount of money, anything worth having could be bought. It had taken her, a slip of a girl with chestnut curls and cupids bow lips and dark, flashing eyes to teach him otherwise, to show him that love given freely is beyond value, and also painfully easy to take for granted.

Unfortunately, it was a lesson he'd learned too late.

Nate won. He lost. Game over.

So what did it matter that he'd been about to man up and tell her the truth about his feelings when he had shown up at the Waldorf residence in the dead of night, that he'd been ready to throw caution to the wind and confess it all? He'd missed his opportunity because he was a fucking coward.

He'd been terrified of the commitment inherent in those three words, because they _were_ a commitment. To him at least. Once said, they could not be unsaid. There were no take-backs. Those eight letters were forever, which was why Chuck could acknowledge his feelings for her so effortlessly to Nathaniel, to Serena, to anyone who would listen, but choked up whenever he tried to say them to her, the person they were meant for.

But that hadn't been what had kept them from being together. It had never actually been about saying or not saying 'I love you.' Not really. It was his own insecurities that had kept them apart, his fear that she'd see through all his careful posturing to the boy inside. That she'd be disappointed like his father. That she'd disappear like every other woman in his life. Like his mother when he'd been born. Like his nannies when they made one too many passes at his dad. Like Bart's ever changing girlfriends when they got too clingy. Like Serena when she'd fled to boarding school and left him behind to clean up her mess and mediate the increasing awkwardness between Nate and Blair, making him the constant third wheel in their relationship. Like Lily when she'd been about to abandon both father and son for an old flame in Brooklyn the night of Bart's fatal accident.

He might not have had the greatest track record with the opposite sex, didn't have many examples of their loyalty, but regardless he had reached a place where he'd been willing to take the risk. For her.

"_Fight for her,"_ Serena had told him. _"Make her feel safe."_ And there had been a third command from his sister too, one that had blazed in her eyes, unspoken but obvious. _Tell her you love her._

And he had planned to, had planned to give her his heart and soul, his darkest thoughts, the worst things he's ever done, his hopes and dreams and fears and doubts, everything that made him Chuck Bass, all of it laid bare for her so she'd know she wasn't the only one who felt lost. He felt that way too. Lost without her, without his father, without a smirk on his face and a scotch in his hand and a nameless bimbo on each arm and the whole world not giving a shit because he was Chuck Bass, heir to Bass Industries, before he became Chuck Bass, colossal fuck-up who'd lost the one thing his father had entrusted him with. He didn't know who he was anymore either, but he had wanted to find out. Find out with her because on the second worst day of his life, the day they'd put his father in the ground in a New York cemetery and the reality that Bart wasn't ever coming back had slammed into him, without even thinking about it, he'd gone to her and she'd taken him into her arms and he'd found enough solace there to sleep, because she'd made him feel safe, and Goddamn it he would do that for her, would be the man she needed him to be, a man his father would have been proud to call his son.

So he had gone to her. No flowers that time to throw at his feet. No pretty speeches about not giving up in the face of true love. No games or seduce and destroy missions to hide behind. No, for once it had just been him, Chuck Bass, everything he was, everything he would ever be, and a private prayer that it would be enough, only to find out that it wasn't. Because someone else had beaten him to her, leaving an all too familiar jacket in her foyer.

His first instinct had been to rush up the stairs and break Nathaniel's face. But he had ended up setting the coat back down where he'd found it, returning to his room alone, and drinking himself into oblivion. And the next morning when Serena had inquired how it had gone with Blair, he had glared at her in stony silence, his pallid complexion and bloodshot eyes more than answer enough.

The girl who had once claimed to stand by him through anything now stood by his best friend, the Upper East Side's own golden couple together again, and the subject of Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck was closed forever. She was living her fairytale, and he was… he was intoxicated more often than not, and his life was slowly reverting back to how it had been before…

_You were amazing up there._

…before a champagne fueled striptease that didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.

Or at least that was what was supposed to be happening, and would be happening if reminders stopped imposing themselves upon him.

Like now for instance.

"Nathaniel," Chuck greets as he opens the door, trying to summon enthusiasm into his voice and not having much success. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Don't act surprised," Nate admonishes as he steps past Chuck into the van der Woodsen penthouse. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for a few days, as I'm sure you are well aware."

"Yeah… about that," Chuck drawls uncomfortably. "I've been busy lately." It's a rather lame excuse, and he is certain Nate knows that, but it's the only one he has that sounds reasonably true, and is even a little accurate.

It isn't that he has been _avoiding_ Nathaniel. It's just that the sight of Nate with Blair turns his stomach, even more so than it had the first time. It also makes his heart clench, makes it hard for him to breathe, makes him want to get on a plane and disappear to some foreign city and never set foot in Manhattan again. But as much as he wants to, he can't do that. Bass Industries is here, and Lily had used a loophole to wrest it away from Jack, and when he turns eighteen in a few months time, she expects him to show the board that what they had walked in on had been a fluke and that he was more than capable of taking over his father's legacy as CEO.

So between ignoring Nate's calls and draining bottles of scotch and banging vapid brunettes, he's been pouring over company memos, profit margins, inventory reports, investment portfolios, personnel files, attempting to understand how Bart did it, how he took a small business and made it into a global franchise, wishing he had…

_Blair._

…someone there to help explain it to him so it wasn't so blasted overwhelming.

And if that doesn't leave him feeling particularly social, so much the better. The less he goes out, the less likely he was to run into _them, _except that strategy has apparently been thwarted because they keep coming to see him. So far it has been separately, but soon they'll probably come together, holding hands and smiling at each other and kissing and looking so goddamned picturesque he'll have to swallow down vomit.

What fun.

"I've wanted to talk to you," Nate says into the tense silence that had descended.

Already dreading what invariably comes next, Chuck moves towards the wet bar to mix himself a drink. It's scarcely noon, but he is so not drunk enough for this conversation. "Oh yeah? About what?" he mutters, feigning ignorance to buy himself a few more precious seconds before the reason behind this visit is spoken out loud and he can no longer pretend that it isn't all about her.

"Come on Chuck," Nate sighs. "You know what I want to discuss."

"Actually, Archibald, I haven't the foggiest," Chuck sneers with a touch more vehemence than he intends. "So why don't you stop pussyfooting around whatever it is you came here for and just spit it out?"

"Fine," Nathaniel growls, a bit of his own temper rising. "I know Blair came over the other day and I want to know if you two got your issues worked out."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Chuck deflects, deliberately stalling.

"I did ask her," Nate replies swiftly. "And now I'm asking you. Did you get your stuff worked out?"

Chuck glances away from Nathaniel's inquisitive expression, the amber liquid in his glass suddenly quite fascinating. "There was nothing to work out," he shrugs. "She made her choice, and I moved on."

"So it's over between you then?"

"Whatever was between Blair and I was over a long time ago, Nathaniel," Chuck insists, hoping his friend will let the subject drop and leave well enough alone. "There's nothing between us anymore," he adds, a hint of bitterness seeping into his tone.

Nate's gaze narrows. "Blair said that too."

"She did?"

"Yeah," Nate confirms.

"Then why double check with me?" Chuck scowls. "Do you not trust her?"

Nathaniel bristles at the accusation, standing up straighter. "Of course I trust her."

"Then what is it?" Chuck snarls softly, cocking one brow. "Do you not trust _me_?"

"No, I trust you," Nate sputters with a dismissive gesture. "It's just…"

"Just what, Nathaniel?" Chuck retorts, his jaw clenching.

Nate takes a deep breath as if steeling himself for a battle. Then he asks the one question Chuck is not prepared for him to ask. "Do you love her?"

The inquiry hits him like a kick to the gut. "What?"

"Do you still love her?" Nathaniel repeats, staring at him intently, waiting for a response.

After several long moments, when it becomes clear that Nate is not going to back down without an answer, Chuck turns away, gulping at his scotch. "…no," he whispers eventually, the denial barely audible as he concentrates on the burn of the alcohol in his empty stomach.

Nathaniel grabs his shoulder, whirling him around. "Look at me and say it," he orders.

"Excuse me?" Chuck snorts as though the very idea is preposterous.

But Nate is not to be deterred. "Look in my eyes and tell me you don't love her," he grinds out, tightening his grip on Chuck's arm so he can't move away again. The golden boy's words both a challenge and a command.

"I…" Chuck stammers. "I… This is ridiculous."

"You can't do it," Nathaniel announces, letting his hold on Chuck loosen enough that the dark haired boy is able to wrench free. "You do still love her."

"What does it matter if I do or not?" Chuck snaps harshly. "She chose _you_, remember? End of discussion." With that, he picks up the crystal decanter Lily liked transferring the scotch into, and pours himself another highball.

"But if you – "

"I don't!" Chuck hisses, cutting Nate off abruptly. "I don't love her, okay? Now can we drop this?"

"Fine," Nate declares angrily. "So things are over between you and Blair. Perfect. What about us? Are we over too?"

Despite his quiet fury, the corner of Chuck's mouth twitches. It's just too good an opening. "I didn't know we were dating Nathaniel," he smirks.

"I'm serious, Chuck," Nate deadpans, expression grave. "Are we still friends?"

_I care about three things, Nathaniel. Money, the pleasures money brings me, and you. _

"Yeah," Chuck nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "We're still friends."

"And everything's fine with us?"

"Yes. Everything's fine."

Nathaniel inclines his head, indicating the tumbler in Chuck's hand. "Then why have you been squeezing that so hard your knuckles are white?"

"I – "

"You've been doing it since you picked it up," Nate explains. "Right after I got here. Why is that?" Blue eyes search brown for a second, then he continues, "Are you not okay with me being together with Blair again?"

Chuck swallows, forces himself not to look away, to betray nothing. "I… I just want her to be happy Nathaniel. And if that's…"

_You don't belong with Nate. Never have. Never will. _

"…if that's with you, then yes. I'm okay with it."

And while it isn't a lie, it isn't the whole truth either.


End file.
